An uneasy alliance was what it had come down to. The tavern was one of those down and out places on the outskirts of town, where no one would ever have expected to find a commodore. Of course, no one would expect to find the blacksmith long thought dead either. Will tapped his fingers impatiently against the bar, waiting for the two mugs of ale he'd called for. One of the tavern's many wenches sidled up beside him, threading her arm through his. He shook it off, and she pouted at him.

"What's 'hat about?" She said, in a squeaky pitched voice that made him want to shudder. "Don't ya want some comfortin'?" Rubbing his shoulders, she tried to get closer. "I can fix that tension."

"If you don't stop touching me, you'll be fixing a hell of a lot more." He said, taking the mugs as they were set on the bar. The wench's eyes grew wide and she backed off, her eyes following him as he walked back to the table. But her eyes weren't the only ones on him. As he slid the mug across the table to James, he noticed the commodore watching him intently as well.

"What? Something interesting?" He snapped.

James continued to stare at him, deadpan. "You."

Will set his mug back down, staring him in the face. "And why is that?"

"You've changed so much from the Will Turner I remember." He said, scrutinizing him. Will suddenly looked uncomfortable, looking away. "And I'm not the only one who sees it."

Will stared at the table. "I had to change. I needed to survive." He said finally, tracing the rim of the mug with his finger. James felt sympathy for him.

"So you became a pirate."

"I was hung for being one. Can't exactly get any worse." Will looked up at him, guarded again. "And that's how I survived. It's all I know now."

The crowds had dispersed from the square quickly, not wanting to look at the horrendous sight of the gallows anymore. James had taken Elizabeth home. The whole ride there, she sobbed in his arms, increasing his guilt. Michael sat across from him, the governor beside him, rubbing the lad's back in comfort.

The day was still overcast as a shadow moved from the alleyway, stealing across to the gallows. Behind him, two others came just behind him.

"Oh God…" Anamaria covered her mouth, staring up at Will's body. "How could they do that to him?" She said quietly. She grasped Gibbs's arm tightly. That was what bothered Jack the most, watching her and Gibbs. Ana was a hard woman, never showed emotions. Now he had to turn away from her as a tear ran down her face. His crew had enjoyed having Will around. He'd had something about him that made him easy to get along with. Pulling the knife from its sheath, Jack motioned for Gibbs to boost him up, enough to cut the rope. The body dropped to the ground, raising a haze of dust. Jack got down, kneeling beside him. Just to check, he reached down and tried to find some sign of life, such as a pulse, or the sign of breath from his nose or mouth. Nothing. He pulled back blood stained fingers.

"Pick him up." He muttered to the two behind him, getting to his feet. "We'll take him back to the ship, give him the burial proper of a pirate." Ana and Gibbs exchanged gazes before taking out the orders. Ana grabbed his arms and Gibbs grabbed his feet.

They went back the way they'd come, an intricate maze of back alleys that took them out of sight of the citizens of Port Royal.

Anamaria gasped, dropping Will's hands, and cursing as his head hit the ground. The sound of coughing reached his ears. "It's a bloody miracle." She whispered. Jack turned around.

Will's coughing was harsh, as if his throat had been skinned with sandpaper. "Elizabeth…" The word was barely audible, as Jack got to his knees beside Will.

"William."

"Jack?"

"Aye."

"Jack, my throat hurts." He said, coughing again. It burned to speak, to cough. Every time he did so, his eyes squeezed shut tighter. He didn't want to move, feeling so very weak.

"Get him up. We have to get out of here." Jack said quickly. This time he helped Gibbs, and between the three of them, made it back to the ship.

Cotton had turned out to be a more than adequate doctor, taking to caring for Will's wounded throat. The rope had dug in, tearing the skin up. There would most likely be a scar when it healed.

Jack entered the room on the third day, to see how the blacksmith was doing. Inside, he'd found a changed man. Indifferent to the world around him, sarcastic, angry. It wasn't the same Will that he remembered at all.

"It was Jack, wasn't it? He came to help, but got there too late." James's voice brought him out of his reverie. "They went to take you back to be buried, but something happened. You came back."

"Aye. All I remember was that I wasn't ready to die. Not yet. All I could see was Elizabeth's face, Emma's face." He stared at the mug.

"She's a beautiful girl, Will. You'd be proud. Looks just like you." He leaned against the table. "I've taken care of her like she was my own." The words, meant to be reassuring, cut him deeper. He hadn't been there for almost seven years of her life. She'd only been a few weeks old when he'd been hung. She wouldn't even remember him.

"She misses you too. I see it everyday. In her eyes, when she looks at Emma, when she looks at the horizon."

Will got up, slamming his chair into the table and walking out of the tavern. James followed after him. "Was it something I said?" He called after Will.

"That's not my life anymore." Will told him, walking down the street with long strides.

"It is your life."

Will turned around, staring him down. "My life ended when I was hung. If you're looking for the blacksmith, he stayed dead." He growled. Norrington grabbed his arm, pulling him close so that the two of them were face to face.

"It still is your life. You saw what happened in my office. What if something happens to Elizabeth because of this? Enough lives have been lost or destroyed already." He snapped. Wondering if it was a trick of his mind, he saw a slight flicker of understanding before Will yanked his arm from his grip.

"Jack's death is just a screw up of your troops, that's all." He responded bitterly.

"Jack wasn't the only one."

"What?"

"Will, Michael is dead." The pirate froze. Apparently it was new news to him.

"How?"

"He was taking care of Elizabeth and Emma after you were hung, for many months afterwards. One morning Elizabeth got up, and found that he'd been shot. Made to look like he'd done it himself." Will's eyes shut, mourning for his lost best friend, and for Elizabeth.

"Say there is some truth to your theory. Why haven't you gotten to the bottom of this by now, Commodore Norrington?" He replied snippily. James was beginning to wonder if there wasn't some truth to what Will had said moments ago, if his days of innocence were truly over.

"Because, Mr. Turner, I've been alone in this. One man versus how many are in on this. They've always remained one step ahead of me."

Will fell silent, mulling it all over. "It's captain."

"What?"

"It's Captain Turner, not Mr. Turner." He said quietly. "Jack left the Pearl to me when he died."

"Right." A silent lull fell between the two men as they walked.

"I'll do it."

"Do what?"

"If it means Elizabeth is safe, I'll help you get to the bottom of whatever you think is going on." He crossed his arms. "But then I'm gone. You don't have to worry about me imposing on your marriage, or your relationship with your daughter."

"She's your daughter."

"Not anymore."

"Damn it, Will, do you have any semblance of a heart left at all? You can't be that dead inside. You can't be that dead and still survive." The words had given the pirate pause. "At least stay the night at our house."

"I can't…"

"You can stay in a guest room in the opposite wing of the house. They'll never know." Will looked back down the alley, and then at James.

"Fine. But tomorrow night, I find my own lodgings."

"Agreed."